


take my hand for tender

by crownedcarl



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Chocolate, First Kiss, Gratuitous Use Of Simon The Wingman, Light-Hearted, M/M, Prompt: Kiss, Regan Week (2017), Tropes, look at me go, woop woop, writing something not sad for the second time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: Rick’s mouth tastes sweet and rich. Negan wants to experience it again, and again, and again.





	take my hand for tender

**Author's Note:**

> quick-ish note; this was written very very sloppily, without much proofreading, in order to get it up during the first day of regan week! this combines a prompt @hatterized offered me, with simon as the wingman to regan's epic fail of a romance, and the prompt "kiss" for regan week 2017.
> 
> let me know if i've riddled this fic with inconsistencies, or any spelling errors that would make my ancestors weep with shame. come yell about regan with me @crownedcarl, and check out my other regan fics if you haven't yet! the title's from the song the engine driver by the decemberists.
> 
> i hope you guys like this!

Negan knows himself well enough to admit to a couple of core truths; firstly, that he's far from a fucking saint. He knows it as well as the people around him do. He knows that killing comes to him as easily as breathing, but he doesn't mind those facts, least of all when they make people cower from him and more than fucking eager to please, lest they get on his bad side, but other truths are... _inconvenient._

Negan knows that his fixation on Rick Grimes is far from a fucking secret. At the very least, it's obvious to the people surrounding him who bother to look beneath the surface and put the pieces together. He knows he’s been far from fucking subtle in his approach, but either Rick is the single most oblivious person left on the planet, or he’s one hell of an actor, and Negan favors the first option a hell of a lot more than the second, as much as it pains him to admit it.

Maybe it’s true what they say, spouting off that line that ignorance is bliss. Rick seems happy enough, minus the permanent scowl etched onto his face. He gives Negan a curt nod when he arrives at the Sanctuary, his head held high as his people fan out beside him, falling into formation. He keeps their interactions to a minimum, and Negan realizes that his orders might’ve backfired on him, this once, because Rick adamantly does not speak unless he’s spoken to, and Negan can’t provoke a response out of him without inadvertently reinforcing the painful lesson he shoved down Rick's throat, knowing it must've gone down like a bitter pill.

Despite the months between then and now, it’s an open wound. Rick’s blatant distrust leaves a sour taste in Negan’s mouth.

Today’s a real special day, the way Negan sees it. He’s brought Rick and his closest allies to his very own home for a tour, because he can talk for hours about the luxuries afforded to his people when they do their part, but Rick’s not going to believe him until he sees it with his own two eyes, and Negan’s giving him this one chance to realize that it isn’t all bad, on Negan’s side of the pond. He wants Rick to see that the grass really is fucking greener.

He wants Rick to see that there is a fucking shot at a functioning society at the end of the world, but that it isn’t his precious Alexandria, weak and crippled as Negan’s made it. No, this is where it’s going to happen, at the Sanctuary, and Negan can’t wait for Rick to understand that.

Rick’s not going to make it easy for him, though, and he makes that clear the second Negan mentions the points system he has in place. As Rick’s face hardens, twisting with dismay, Negan holds his gaze impatiently, waiting for Rick’s protests but finding that the words never come. Rick manages to hold his tongue, caving after a while and softly muttering “Does it work?” as he glances at the people walking around, all of them loyal little worker bees, heading to and from their stations. His voice has an air of reluctance to it, like it’s going to break his damn heart to get an answer he doesn’t want.

Negan’s tongue stays firmly behind his teeth for a second or two, but the damnable desire to prove Rick wrong wins out over the desire to let him have this one. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” Negan chuckles, “You bet your sweet ass it does.”

Simon’s trailing behind them, and his snort doesn’t go unnoticed by either Negan or Rick, their heads whirling almost in tandem, Rick frowning and Negan schooling his expression into neutrality. “Something funny, Simon?” Negan asks, sincerely hoping Simon takes that as the unspoken _shut the fuck up and stop embarrassing me_ that it’s meant to be.

Rick’s eyes skip between the two of them, gauging the situation, one hand inching closer and closer to his hatchet. The unease is clear as day; Rick’s probably thinking that Simon pissing Negan off means he’s likely to get caught in the crossfire as collateral damage, and Negan feels repulsed with himself. He takes a deep breath and pastes a smile on his face, hands relaxing by his sides.

“Nothing at all,” Simon eventually responds, but the mirth has drained from his features, replaced by something akin to disappointment. “Sorry, boss. Thought of a funny joke, is all.”

There’s nothing funny about Rick’s tense posture, his unsteady breathing, and Negan considers it a small victory that Rick doesn’t flinch when Negan’s hand closes around his elbow and urges him forward, letting go as soon as Rick is moving. “Let me show you where the real magic happens,” Negan grins. “Tonight, I’m treating you to a feast fit for fucking kings.”

-

“The pantry?” Rick asks, baring his teeth at Negan in a sneer. Bold fucking move for a guy surrounded by Negan’s men, all of them prepared to take down the first person to get on Negan’s nerves, but he gets why Rick’s so pissed off. After all, half of the shit he’s got stocked in the walk-in freezer and pantry is shit he took from Alexandria, and he’s got supplies in abundance. It must feel like a cruel mockery, to Rick, being forced to witness it all on display.

“The pantry,” Negan parrots, narrowing his eyes. “You’d better save that fucking attitude ‘til after dinner, Rick, ‘cause I’m not wining and dining you if you so much as put a goddamn toe over the line again.”

Apparently hoping for a civil fucking conversation was hoping for too much. Negan grits his teeth and barks “Don’t you people have fucking jobs to do?” and watches as his men scatter, all of them but Simon taking off with an air of palpable relief to them. Their audience narrowed down to one, Negan lets himself relax.

He doesn’t give a shit about putting the fear of god in these pathetic fucks, but seeing Rick twitch when Negan gets too close manages to cut him to the goddamn core. Nobody’s opinion has ever mattered as fucking much as Rick’s does, and Negan is getting progressively worse at hiding that fact.

Not that he’s desperate for approval, but it would be swell if Rick could stop shooting him these glances that suggest he’s waiting for Negan to pull the rug out from under him.

“You ought to show him the sweet stuff,” Simon says, and Negan wonders if Rick can hear the goddamn double entendre that’s wrapped around the words. “In the back.”

Rolling his eyes, Negan gestures for Rick to follow him further inside the stocked pantry, giving Simon a sharp look when he stays right behind the threshold, hands shoved in his pockets, innocently gazing back. “Tell you what, Rick,” Negan announces, “You play nice tonight, I’ll let you have whatever you want-”

A sudden squeal, a bang, and a muffled thud later, Negan realizes that Simon has gone and fucked him over. Whirling, crossing the small space in three long strides, Negan pounds a fist on the door and shouts “What the fuck is this?” and hears Simon chuckle in response.

“I’ll be back,” Simon offers, not at all fucking reassuringly, “After you clear the air. You’ll thank me later,” he laughs, and as Negan’s shouting warnings at him, he can hear Simon’s footsteps slowly fade away.

He rests his forehead against the steel, cursing up a fucking storm. “He locked us in?” Rick questions, sounding more confused than angry. Negan turns to give him a flat stare, and Rick shakes his head, exasperated, before reaching for the peanuts on the top shelf. “Disobeying orders like that...is he in for a punishment?”

“You’re goddamn right he is,” Negan snaps, “I’m revoking all his fucking privileges.” He can't wait to see if Simon's still going to be laughing after Negan throws his fucking TV out the window.

Rick isn’t laughing, but his amusement betrays him as it lights up his face. Negan thinks that it might be the first time he’s made Rick smile. “On the bright side,” Rick sighs, “At least we won’t go hungry.”

Would you fucking look at that; Rick Grimes of all people seeing the silver lining. Negan rubs at his forehead, the agitation slowly bleeding away, and takes notice of the tiny shiver that wracks Rick’s frame. They’re not in the freezer, thank fuck, but the pantry is kept at cool temperatures, and while Negan’s doing alright in his leather jacket, he can’t imagine Rick’s all that comfortable with the chill in his button-up.

It isn’t in Rick’s nature to accept kindness from Negan without suspicion, so he says nothing and instead holds his hand out, smirking as Rick obediently offers him the bag. “Enough with the long face,” Negan groans, “Shit, I didn’t fucking trap you in here, did I? Believe you me, I want to kick Simon’s ass as much as you do.”

Mildly, Rick responds “Worse things have happened,” and shrugs at Negan’s raised eyebrow, turning his face away. “Stop staring at me.”

He’s never had the balls to call Negan out before, and he’s a little impressed, to tell the truth. He grins to himself as he searches the shelves and cupboards for something a little more filling than peanuts, and almost bursts into laughter when he finds a box of probably-expired chocolate, the pink design drawing his eye.

It’s irresistible, so Negan holds the box in front of his heart as he sing-songs “Hey, Rick? Be my Valentine?” and sees Rick shoot him a pained look, but then he seems to reconsider, walking up to Negan to examine the chocolate. The heart-shaped box feels suddenly heavy in Negan's hands.

“Nougat,” Rick chuckles, shaking his head in wonderment. “What are the odds? Been dreaming about getting my hands on this.”

“Uh-uh,” Negan counters, “What do I get in return, Rick? This is some tasty stuff, and I can’t go giving it away for nothing. That shit sets a bad example.”

There it is, Rick’s confirmation of the fact that nothing in life is ever free. “Forget it,” he snaps, “Keep it.”

For a moment, Negan considers letting this be it: another way for him to hold his power over Rick’s head, making Rick have to fight for the smallest things he wants, and then decides to take a different road. “Offer me something,” Negan demands, “Anything. Something in your pocket, or, shit, sing me a fucking song if you want. The price is whatever you want it to be.”

The disbelief paints Rick’s face, sharp and jarring. “Anything?” he repeats, taking a step forward, eyes narrowing. “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you fucking want.”

His back hits the door before he realizes what the fuck is happening. Rick kisses him, and it’s not wild, not desperate, but not soft, either. The mouth against Negan’s own is chapped and dry, and if it wasn’t for the sheer shock of finally getting what he wants, Negan would slip his tongue behind Rick’s teeth and lick the taste of coffee from the roof of his mouth, but the moment doesn’t last.

Rick draws back, clearing his throat, and unceremoniously takes the box from Negan, opening it quickly and popping a star-shaped piece of chocolate between his lips. “Worth it?” Negan asks, his voice hoarse like his lungs can’t take in enough fucking air, like his throat has been lined with crushed glass.

Goddamn, but it’s been a long time since anything made him feel so _alive._

Rick’s almost smiling, and Negan wonders if this was a spur of the moment thing for him or, if maybe Rick’s been _wanting_ to do this for a while but never could, not unless Negan gave him an appropriate opportunity.

Wishful fucking thinking. He doesn’t know what the fuck Simon was thinking. They’ve got no reason to clear the damn air. “Don’t know, yet.”

Rick’s words ring in Negan’s ears. If that’s not the invitation he’s been waiting for, Negan doesn’t know what is.

His hand finds bare skin and _tugs._

Rick isn’t a goddamn damsel in distress, but the stutter of his breath and the thundering of his pulse beneath Negan’s fingers makes him slow down, their faces held apart by less than an inch of empty space, the temptation growing with every soft gulp of air that Rick inhales, bracing himself for the unknown and potentially painful.

That’s not what Negan’s looking for. His hand around Rick’s wrist isn’t there to cage him, and the slow realization that he’s doing it for the sheer pleasure of the connection makes Negan’s head hurt, his mouth shaping into a scowl. Leaning in, giving Rick more than enough time to get away if he wants to, Negan finds him soft and yielding.

Rick’s mouth tastes sweet and rich. Negan wants to experience it again, and again, and again.

As far as first times go, this ain’t all that bad. Maybe Negan won’t remember it in a year, or two years, but he doesn’t want to go forgetting about the sticky-sweet residue on Rick’s tongue, or his breathless laughter when Negan pushes closer and sucks the chocolate from Rick’s lips.

“You’re fucking shivering,” he tells Rick, more than a little pleased.

“It’s cold,” Rick retorts, “Don’t go gettin’ any ideas.”

“I’m not,” Negan laughs, and, as if he’s done it a thousand times before, he slips his jacket off and drapes it across Rick’s shoulders, something primal waking in him at the way Rick’s slighter build allows the sleeves to cover part of his hands, hanging off of him as if he’s something fucking delicate. “Better?”

Rick’s answering smile is almost, almost fond, but Negan thinks to himself that even a glimpse of Rick’s barely-there affection is enough, for now. He drinks it in. Rick's thawing to him like a frozen brook melting during spring.

“Yeah,” Rick concedes, his eyes soft, his mouth slick. “Better.”

When he reaches for Negan’s shoulders to drag him down to his own height, to press their mouths together again, Negan goes willingly.

The taste of chocolate lingers on his tongue.


End file.
